New York City Murders

by W. D. Frolick

  Tillman picked up the phone and dialed.

  After four rings a sleepy female voice said, “Hello.”

  “Lauren, it’s Marcus Tillman. Sorry to be calling you so early. I have someone who needs to speak with you about Grant.”

  Tillman handed the phone to Buck.

  “Hello, Mrs. Peterson, this is Detective Woods of the New York Police Department. Normally my partner and I would deliver what I am about to tell you in person. Due to the distance and the time, it would take to have someone from the Beverly Hills PD visit you, I felt you should be informed as soon as possible. There is no easy way to say this. I’m so sorry to have to tell you that your husband, Grant, was murdered last night. We would like to express our sincere condolences and deepest sympathy to you and your family for your loss.”

  For a long moment, there was complete silence on the line. Suddenly, Buck heard, “Oh, my God. That can’t be true. I just spoke with him last evening after the play. He called to say goodnight to the kids before bedtime.”

  That’s when reality sank in. Lauren Peterson completely broke down. Buck gave her a few minutes, then asked, “Mrs. Peterson, are you okay?”

  Gulping a few times, in a hoarse whisper she said, “Yes, I…I think so.”

  After answering a few questions about what had happened to her husband, Buck said, “Once the autopsy is completed, you will be contacted to make arrangements for your husband’s body to be returned home to you. Again, Mrs. Peterson, we’re so very sorry for your loss.”

  As Buck said goodbye, Lauren Peterson began to sob once more.

  “Good job, Detective. I’m glad I didn’t have to break the news to her,” Tillman said.

  “Are you going to cancel tonight’s performance?” Kristie asked.

  “No, Detective, I’m not. As they say in show business, the show must go on. Grant’s understudy, Troy Ashton, will play Grant’s part. He was the lead actor before I hired Peterson. I’ll have to see if Ashton’s former understudy is still available.”

  Buck’s cell phone rang. He checked the screen.

  “Hello, Hector.” After listening for a few seconds, he said, “Okay, we’ll be right there.”

  “What’s up?” asked Kristie.

  “Dr. Rodriguez said a uniform just found a pistol in the dumpster. He said it’s a .45 caliber Smith & Wesson. It might be your missing gun, Mr. Tillman.”

  When they arrived at the crime scene, Dr. Rodriguez was about to put the gun into an evidence bag.

  “Before you place the gun into evidence, Hector,” Buck asked, “could we please take a look at it?”

  The ME held the gun up in a gloved hand.

  “Does that look like your pistol, Mr. Tillman?” Buck asked.

  “Yes. That’s my gun all right.”

  “How can you be so certain?” Kristie asked.

  “If you look closely, you’ll see my initials stamped on the barrel.”

  Sure enough, the initials MT were there.

  “This isn’t good, Mr. Tillman,” Buck said. “Are you sure you weren’t walking in your sleep last night? Would you like to change your story?”

  Tillman snapped, “I’ve already told you where I was last night. If I killed Peterson, I’d have to be a complete idiot to throw the gun into my own dumpster. It’s obvious someone is trying to frame me.”

  “You could be right, Mr. Tillman,” Kristie said. “We’ll have the gun checked for fingerprints, and ballistics will let us know if it’s the murder weapon. I suggest you stay in town until we get the results. We should know in a day or two.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Not at the moment, you don’t. You’re free to go. When we get the results, we’ll be in touch,” Buck said.

  “I’ll be performing the autopsy on Peterson at one tomorrow afternoon if you two care to join me,” Dr. Rodregiuz said.

  “We’ll be there,” Buck said.

  CHAPTER 9

  On their way back to the Five-two, Buck and Kristie stopped for a late lunch at their favorite diner.

  As he munched on a BLT sandwich, Buck asked, “What do you think, did Tillman do it?”

  “I guess we’ll know better once we get the crime lab report. If it turns out that it was Tillman’s gun that killed Peterson and his fingerprints are on the weapon it should be a slam dunk.”

  “It would seem that way, but what if Tillman’s telling the truth and someone’s trying to frame him?”

  “I suppose that’s a possibility,” Kristie said.

  “What I can’t figure out is why Tillman would kill Peterson and then throw the gun into the dumpster. Like he said, he would have to be an idiot to do that. And I don’t think Tillman is stupid,” Buck said.

  “If someone is trying to frame Tillman, do you have any idea who it could be?”

  Buck frowned. “I haven’t got a clue. As Tillman said, it could be anyone who worked there.”

  “Once we get the lab results, we might have a better idea.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see what turns up at his autopsy. Tillman mentioned that Peterson was out of sorts lately and that he was going to disclose the reason he wanted out of their agreement at their breakfast meeting. I think we should go over to his condo and take a look around. Maybe we’ll find a clue that tells us what was going on,” Buck said.

  “Good idea.”

  After updating Captain Robertson, they headed to Peterson’s condo. Buck parked in a visitor spot in front of the impressive building.

  “Wow!” Kristie said as she gazed up at the tall building. “So this is where the rich people live.”

  Buck buzzed the administration office, and a female voice asked, “How may I help you?”

  “I‘m Detective Woods of the NYPD. My partner and I need to speak with you about Mr. Grant Peterson.”

  “Just a minute, please.”

  Seconds later, a brunette in her early forties came to the door. Buck and Kristie held up their badges. She opened the door and said, “Good afternoon, Detectives, I’m Barbara Bullock, assistant to Mr. Branch, our building manager.” They shook hands. “How can I be of service?”

  Buck gave her a brief synopsis of what had happened to Peterson and the reason for their visit.

  After recovering from the initial shock, she said, “Normally Mr. Branch would have to okay you going into Mr. Peterson’s condo. Since Mr. Branch is away today, I’ll let you in. By the way, don’t you need a search warrant?”

  “No, we don’t. Since Mr. Peterson has been murdered, there’s no one to serve a warrant to. The law allows us to search the victim’s residence for clues that might help us solve his murder. That’s what we’re here to do,” Buck said.

  “Please wait here. I’ll go get the keys,” Less than a minute later, Barbara came back and said, “Please follow me.” She led them down the corridor past a bank of elevators to a private elevator that required a key to enter. Once inside, she punched the PH button. Seconds later, the doors opened, and they stepped out into an inviting foyer that led to a massive great room with a spectacular view of Central Park.

  Gazing through the wall-to-wall glass, Kristie was blown away. “Very impressive,” she said. “It must be nice to be rich.”

  “Yeah, it must be,” Buck agreed as he stared at the dancing sunlight reflecting off the lake in the park.

  “If you’re impressed with the view, just wait until you see the rest of the place. Mr. Peterson’s unit takes up the entire floor. It has 6,240 square feet. The ceilings are eleven feet nine inches high, and the floor to ceiling windows are all soundproof. Most of the flooring is Brazilian rosewood. It has a chef’s kitchen to die for and four huge bedrooms along with five luxurious bathrooms. I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture.”

  “We sure do,” Kristie said, her eyes growing wider with each passing seco
nd.

  “I’m curious, what would a penthouse like this be worth on today’s market?” Buck asked.

  “Mr. Peterson bought this unit about six years ago. He would have paid a lot less than today’s value of approximately fifty million dollars.”

  “Oh, my God,” Kristie gasped. “At my salary, I’d have to work at least ten lifetimes or more and still wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

  Buck laughed. “I think we’re in the wrong profession. We should be actors.”

  Barbara smiled and glanced at her watch. “I’d better get back. I’ll leave you two to your detecting. When you’re done, drop by the office, and I’ll come back and lock up.”

  “Thanks, Barbara. We appreciate your help,” Kristie said.

  When Bullock had left, Buck asked, “Where would you like to start?”

  “I think Peterson’s office would be a good place. What do you think?”

  “I agree. Do you want to split up or work together?”

  “Let’s work together. That way we can discuss things as we go along,” Kristie said.

  Like everything in the place, Peterson’s office was spacious, and the furnishings were expensive.

  In plain view, on Peterson’s desk, next to a laptop computer, under a blue crystal ball paperweight, they found a letter sitting on some legal papers. Buck set the paperweight aside and picked up the message. “It looks like Peterson’s wife wrote him a letter,” he said.

  Leaning over Buck’s shoulder, silently, they each began to read.

  Dear Grant:

  As you know, I have been extremely unhappy for the past few years.

  You are always away making movies or doing live theater as you are now. We have not had a healthy relationship or family life for several years. Most of the time, I have been raising our two children on my own. I have had to put my own career on hold, and I can’t do it any longer.

  I know you have had several affairs, and I’m tired of looking the other way. I have been patient thinking that things will change and you’ll come to your senses. My patience has run out.

  Recently, I hired a private investigator, and he has provided me with pictures of you and your leading lady, Crystal O’Connor, leaving the theater after several performances. He followed you back to and from our condo. It is obvious what you are up to.

  I’m filing for divorce and have enclosed papers for you to review and discuss with your solicitor.

  Once you read the terms, I trust you will find them more than fair. Since you are never here to take care of the children, I’m asking for full custody. The agreement provides you with flexible and generous visitation rights.

  I’m sorry that our relationship has come to this, but you have left me no alternative.

  Please have your lawyer contact my solicitor as soon as possible. The sooner we can settle, the sooner we can both get on with our lives.

  Sincerely,

  Lauren

  When they had finished reading, Kristie turned to Buck and said, “Wow, that’s a real shocker. I bet this is the reason Peterson wanted out of his contract. Maybe he wanted to go home and try to change her mind. Did you notice how she signed the letter?”

  “Yeah, I did. I suppose signing it Love, Lauren, doesn’t make any sense when you’re asking for a divorce. If this is the reason Peterson wanted out of his agreement, why wouldn’t he have told Tillman the day they argued?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Peterson was embarrassed,” Kristie said.

  “Why would he be embarrassed? People get divorced every day. Unless…unless there was another reason.”

  “Another reason? What in the world could that be?” Kristie asked, a confused look on he face.

  “I wish I knew. We’ll just have to keep digging. Maybe something will turn up.”

  Kristie noticed a red light flashing on the phone. “It looks like Peterson has a message. Let’s check to see who called.”

  There were three messages. The first message was from Peterson’s lawyer, asking him to call as soon as possible. The second message was left by a female voice, saying it was urgent for Peterson to call Dr. Harrison’s office. The third message was from Tillman, saying that he was waiting at the restaurant. He asked Peterson to call him on his cell phone.

  “The lawyer’s message was probably about the divorce, and we know why Tillman called, but the urgent message to call Dr. Harrison has me puzzled,” Kristie said.

  “Let’s call the number on the message from Dr. Harrison’s office and ask what kind of doctor he is. That may give us a clue as to what the urgency is all about,” Buck suggested.

  “Good idea.”

  Kristie listened to the message again and wrote down the number. She picked up the phone and dialed. After two rings, a female voice answered. “Dr. Harrison’s office. How may I help you?”

  “Good afternoon,” Kristie said. “Could you please tell me what type of medicine Dr. Harrison specializes in?”

  “Why yes, Dr. Harrison is an oncologist. Why do you ask?”

  Without answering, Kristie hung up.

  “Well?” Buck asked.

  “He’s an oncologist.”

  “Holy shit! I bet Peterson has cancer. That’s why he wanted out of his contract. Maybe he was waiting for test results to be sure before he told Tillman,” Buck said.

  “You could be right. That’s probably why, as Tillman said, Peterson was extremely agitated lately.”

  “Suspecting you have cancer and your wife filing for a divorce would be more than enough stress to make anyone agitated.”

  “Due to patient confidentiality, I’m sure Dr. Harrison won’t give us the reason he urgently wanted to speak with Peterson,” Kristie said.

  “You’re right about that,” Buck agreed. “Our best bet is to attend Peterson’s autopsy tomorrow afternoon and see what turns up.”

  “If he has cancer, I’m sure it will be discovered during the autopsy,” Kristie said.

  Next, they decided to check out the master bedroom. It was almost bigger than Buck’s entire condo, and the gigantic walk-in closet was the size of Buck’s bedroom. There were more suits and casual clothes than either of them had ever seen in one place other than in a men’s clothing store. There were more dress and casual shoes than they could even begin to count. One section held a variety of women’s clothing and several pairs of high-heeled dress shoes and a few pairs of jogging shoes.

  “How the hell could one man possibly wear all the clothes that are in this closet?” Buck asked.

  Pointing to the opposite wall, Kristie said, “It definitely looks like his leading lady was shacking up with him. This section must be Crystal O’Connor’s clothing, the woman his wife accused him of having an affair with.”

  Buck let out a subdued laugh. “It sure is mind-boggling how rich people live.”

  “Actually, it’s amazing!” Kristie said with a touch of envy.

  In several chests of drawers, they found folded men’s t-shirts, socks, handkerchiefs, and underwear. One chest of drawers contained bras, panties, see-through nighties, and a wide variety of stockings. When Kristie opened the drawer of a night table, she smiled at what she saw. She held up a pair of handcuffs, laughed, and said, “From the toys in this drawer, it looks like Peterson was into kinky sex.”

  Buck chuckled. “Yeah, he played a lot of cop roles. Maybe those cuffs were left over from one of his movies or from Murder on Broadway.”

  They stayed for another half hour without discovering anything else of interest.

  On their way out, Buck popped his head into the administration office. “Thanks for your help, Barbara. You can lock up Mr. Peterson’s condo now.”

  “Okay, I will. Did you find anything that helps your investigation?”

  “Not really,” Buck lied. “Thanks again. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye, D
etective.”

  Just as they were about to drive away, Buck’s cell phone rang. It was Captain Robertson.

  “Hello, Captain. What’s up?”

  “How are you making out at Peterson’s condo?”

  “We just finished our search. We’re on our way back. We’ll update you when we get there.”

  “Sorry, I won’t be here. I’ve got a dentist appointment. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’m calling to inform you that Commissioner Gowan has scheduled a press conference for ten in the morning inside the Broadway House Theater. He’ll give a brief statement and field a few questions about Peterson’s murder. Since you’ve been assigned the investigation, he wants you and Detective Karlsson by his side in case he needs your help answering questions. Be there by nine thirty.”

  CHAPTER 10

  It was a few minutes before five when they arrived back at the precinct.

  Just as Kristie sat down at her desk, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and frowned. It was Kruger.

  She looked over at Buck and said, “It’s Kruger. I wonder what he wants?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. Answer it.”

  She rolled her eyes and picked up the receiver.

  “Homicide, Detective Karlsson.”

  Kruger laughed. “My God, you’re formal. Your call display showed it was me, right?”

  “I didn’t look at the screen,” Kristie lied.

  “Anyway, I called to apologize for the other night. I got a little drunk and said some things I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. Can we try it again? I promise I’ll only have a few drinks. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  Losing her cool, Kristie’s barked, “You were a complete asshole. Why would I want to go through that again?”

  “Do I sense a little hostility? As I said, I’ll be good. I’ll be a complete gentleman. Ah, c’mon, Kristie, let me prove it to you.”

  “Let me think about it for a few years.”

  Karlsson slammed the receiver down and stared at Buck. Before she could speak, he smiled. “Way to go. You’re playing hard to get. That’ll give us time to come up with a new plan.”